


Life @ 11

by CherryMountain



Series: Bruce/Tony Trope Bingo [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bruce Needs a Hug, Dark Thoughts, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Doc Samson is a dick, Flirting, Hulk is the other guy, Joe Fixit and his sarcasm, Kayla and her adorable blabbering, Liver Failure, M/M, Ross is a police officer, Slow Build, Teddy because I can, The Waiting Room, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony builds cars, also a dick, car parts, hospital au, hospital restraints, implied roof sex, mentions of murder and violence, self-hate, trope bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMountain/pseuds/CherryMountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). Tony has a failing liver. It’s unexpected that they find each other in a hospital, given the circumstances. The world works in mysterious ways, leading them to learn that there is something to live for. Or, possibly, someone.</p><p>Or, the one where Bruce tries to put down the other guy, Tony drinks too much, and a lot of shit happens at a hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life @ 11

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Trope Bingo given to me by my twin. This box said, “Hospital,” and so I wrote a hospital AU. Two down, three to go. Really, I only planned on a few thousand words, but then I got caught up in the angst and uggh I put too much detail into it, but oh well. Another 10k+. Yet another A Day To Remember song. Tony’s a little… compassionate, but knowing you’re dying can do that to you. And normally I don’t like the whole “other guy” wording, but it completely fit for this fic. Uhh, it’s fast paced. Really fast. Annnd the story will tell you everything else you need to know. Enjoy!

The first blackout was when Bruce was really little. When he lost his mother. When his father eventually turned on him.

And then… nothing. When he woke up, he was in the front lawn, and something-a feeling, and instinct- told him not to go inside. So he didn’t. When the police came, he had nothing to say to them, because he didn’t know why they were asking so many questions. He was too young to truly understand what had happened.

It only progressed from there. Bruce blacked out, and he woke up in a place he didn’t remember being. It wasn’t until he was in his late teens that he realized that the blackouts were caused by too much emotion; stress, anger, fear. Too much, and he’d black out.

He was nineteen when he woke up in jail, blood on his hands. It was then that Bruce spoke to his first therapist, and then they told him what was happening. What his condition was called, and how it worked. That when he blacked out, someone else was taking over.

Bruce was so confused, and they had to record Bruce to prove it to him. Finally, everything made sense. The one that took control, he didn’t give a name, but he said he showed up to protect Bruce, because Bruce couldn’t protect himself. Then, when it was safe, he’d let Bruce come back, take the driver’s seat instead of the trunk, hold onto the reins.

But the other guy was violent. He didn’t care about anyone’s safety but his own - and, in a way, Bruce, because they shared the same body - which made him dangerous. Bruce learned to manage his emotions, keep them in check, which also meant avoiding crowded places, dangerous areas, stressful jobs. People.

But sometimes, it was too much, and Bruce couldn’t do it. Sometimes, he wasn’t fast enough to realize something was happening. And then he’d wake up, hours later, and Bruce knew he’d let someone down. He added it to the pile of guilt he had forming in his chest.

There were no cures, nothing to suppress the other guy. He tried to do his own studies, but to no avail. And so, Bruce had to deal with the fact that if he wasn’t careful, he’d hurt someone. He visited a therapist every week, and if he had blacked out, they’d go over any recording of the incident, and Bruce would try to prepare himself for next time.

Eventually, as Bruce grew older, he knew there was nothing he could _actually_ do to stop the other guy. He checked his heart rate and did breathing exercises, but it was all out of his control, in the end. The other guy did as he pleased, and Bruce was just along for the ride.

* * *

Bruce woke slowly, a dull ache behind his eyes. It was a familiar ache, and his eyes shot open when he realized what it was. He bolted into a sitting position, or at least tried to. There was something over his chest, keeping him pinned to the bed. He went to pull it off, but he found his hands were similarly pinned.

Panic set in, and his breathing became ragged as he took in his surroundings. He was in a bed, surrounded by beeping machines, there was the smell of antiseptic stinging his nose, and the room was filled with pale colors. Why was he in a hospital? But his heart told him he didn’t have to ask that question. The other guy.

Then he felt the pain in his abdomen. It was a delayed reaction, from when he had tried to sit up, but it shook through him, causing him to hiss in pain and throw his head back. He clenched his hands into fists to hold the pain back, and it slowly eased away. As long as he didn’t move too much.

As if she’d heard his struggle- and maybe she had- a nurse stepped in, the pale blue scrubs giving her away. Bruce didn’t recognize her. Not that he was at the hospital every week, but he came often enough. With the fights that the other guy got into, the police encouraged him to get things checked out each time. He’d become a regular, to the police and the hospital staff. Was she new? She looked too confident as she immediately moved to the monitors attached to Bruce, and the man worked on relaxing. He watched as she upped his morphine- there was an IV in his arm- and checked the heart monitors.

Bruce wet his lips before she could leave. “How many people?” He asked quietly, and he already felt the tears pricking his eyes, fearing the answer, but he needed to hear it.

When she moved back to the door, Bruce was about to call out to her when he saw a figure in the doorway. It was a man, clad in the black uniform of a police officer. The man moved out of the way for the nurse, then stared Bruce down.

Bruce felt himself freeze. The man being here, it meant one thing: that the other guy hadn’t just gotten into a fight, but he had seriously injured someone. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, to think about something else, because the other guy would come out if he didn’t control himself. He focused on his breathing, which was shaky and haggard, but the man’s voice broke through his focus.

“This is the second time this month, Banner,” he said, his voice low and angry. “If you didn’t have that garbage claiming this wasn’t you, you’d be in prison by now.”

Bruce heard the threat as it was, that the man didn’t believe that what was done was actually the other guy, and not Bruce. To the police, Bruce was this mans “regular.” He’d cuffed Bruce the first few times the police had been fast enough to stop the other guy, and from then on, the officer had made it his own personal mission to be there every time the police were involved. Of course, the other guy was there most of the time the police were. When the officer first found out about Bruce’s condition, Bruce’s therapist had to come down to the station and pleaded with the other guy to let Bruce out. Supposedly, the other guy had claimed that it wasn’t safe, being around police officers weren’t safe, but the therapist had been very convincing, and the next thing Bruce knew, he was in a police station.

“Officer Ross, I’m going to have to ask you to step out,” someone said, and Bruce opened his eyes to see the nurse returning with a tray of supplies. The officer glared down at her, and she paused at the bed and gave him a look. “You’re welcome to return when I’m finished, but our patient needs to be relaxed while I change his bandages, and you’re disrupting that peace.”

Ross nodded, glancing toward Bruce. “I was leaving anyway.” Then he was gone, moving out the door, and the nurse pulled the curtain closed. His anger and threat still lingered in the air, like he was still there, glaring.

Bruce allowed his eyes to close as he tried to relax into the bed. “Can you tell me what happened?” He asked the nurse, who got to work on removing whatever bandages were on his abdomen.

“I’m sorry,” she said as Bruce hissed from a stinging sensation, but the pain was dulled thanks to the morphine. “I can’t.”

Bruce frowned. Did that mean she didn’t know? Or that she didn’t have permission? Did he have to wait for a doctor or Ross to tell him?

Soon enough, he got the answer to his question. Two new people walked in right after the nurse finished with his bandages and opened the curtains. Bruce immediately recognized the nurse, Linda Carter, a woman who had wrapped his hands and injuries many times after the other guy. It was good to see a familiar face, but Bruce feared that’s all she was, by the look from the doctor.

The doctor stepped forward and explained everything. “I’m Dr. Strange, I performed your surgery. Normally, with gunshot wounds, I’d have you stay here for a few days then return home. With your condition, however, and from speaking with your therapist, we’ve decided to keep you here until you’re completely healed, and there’s no risk that your DID will surface due to the injury.”

Bruce nodded after he finished, understanding. It’s happened before, when he had a sprained arm. “You’ve spoken to Doctor Samson?”

Strange nodded, stuffing his hands in his lab coat pockets. “Yes, he’s on his way now.” Then he was stepping forward, his hands moving to Bruce’s restraints. Bruce had been fine last time he’d been here, and Samson must have told this doctor, because soon enough, the restraints were gone, and the room was left to him.

Bruce sat up, moving slow so as to not cause pain in his stomach. He remembered his last stay, here for an entire week. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to be here this time.

He pulled his IV pole out from behind the bed, wanting to stretch his legs. Staying in the bed wasn’t going to calm his nerves. It took a while, but as he moved more, the pain faded into the back of his mind. He stood, gripping the pole for support, and began pacing his room. He wore the gray scrubs of a patient, and the white wristband with identifiable info on it.

He was use to the loud chatter of emergency waiting rooms, but here, the chatter was low, a quiet buzz in the background.

It perked Bruce’s interest, and he stopped by the door to look out. He was in the permanent residency wing, where patients stayed and lived for longer periods of time, some even months or years, needing constant observation for their issues. And Bruce’s room was right next to the waiting area, which was more of a lounge. The residents probably had constant visitors from loved ones, and the lounge was bigger than the rooms. So there were people there.

Normally, Bruce would have stayed in his room, for fear of the other guy coming out and hurting people. But he figured since he was in a hospital, that it was safe enough. They had the means to knock him out if he became dangerous, and he’d just wake up restrained again.

Bruce found himself pacing the halls, waiting for Samson to show. The halls were quiet, the occasional nurse passing by, and Bruce saw another patient, only identifiable by the bracelet but otherwise in her own clothing. Long dark hair, blue shirt and black jeans, but with the white band across her wrist.

Bruce didn’t speak to anyone, and no one attempted to engage in conversation with him. It was a win-win.

Until Bruce was passing the elevator.

He didn’t know what caused him to look up at the opening doors, but he did. Inside, a man was leaning against the railing, but he bounced on his feet when the doors open, giddy with excitement. He was pale, with dark hair and a trimmed goatee, with bright blue eyes. He wore a red t-shirt and blue jeans, had on those hospital socks that were nonslip, and had a white band on his left wrist.

He paused just outside the elevator when he laid eyes on Bruce. Bruce was about to keep walking, because he knew it was rude to stare, but then the man made eye contact with him and opened his mouth. The man waggled his eyebrows, a grin on his face. “Ever had sex in an elevator?”

Bruce felt his eyes widen, because the man was looking right at him, and there was no one else in the hallway, and was he flirting? He froze; his breathing, his moving, his heart beat. It was such a shock, and in the _hospital_. Or was he literally asking Bruce- a random stranger- to have sex with him in an elevator? What the hell?

He couldn’t think to do anything, but thankfully, he didn’t have to.

A nurse appeared, glaring at the man in the red t-shirt. “There you are, Mr. Stark,” she said, approaching the two men, her tone threatening. “You’re late to your appointment.”

The man, Mr. Stark, glanced to the nurse, gave Bruce one more wiggle of his eyebrows, then darted off down the hall.

Then the nurse was looking to Bruce, and her words brought him out of his deer-in-the-headlights feeling. “You have a visitor, Doctor Banner.”

Bruce blinked. That had to be Doctor Samson. Bruce did his best to forget about whatever it was that just happened and shuffled back to his room, the nurse disappearing when she knew he was where he was supposed to be.

Samson was sitting in the chair at the end of the bed, but he stood when Bruce entered. “Good morning, Bruce.”

Bruce wanted to skip over the pleasantries, but he decided against it. He had to please the therapist, he knew. He got to the bed and sat down, and Samson pulled the chair over to be in front of Bruce after the man closed the glass door.

“How are you feeling? I was told you were injured,” Samson said, concerned, settling into the chair.

Bruce nodded, rubbing at his arm. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Samson nodded, folding his hands together in his lap. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Bruce felt his eyes narrow. “I don’t remember much. Just walking home.” He looked away, trying to think. “There was a dark street. An alley? Maybe I was about to get mugged, or something.” He shook his head, looking back up at the doctor. “How many people did I hurt?”

The therapist immediately shook his head. “Not you, Bruce. He did this. You can’t-”

Bruce knew where the man was going with this. Wasn’t his fault, can’t blame himself. But he’d heard it before. “It is,” he said, cutting the man off. “ _I’m_ not strong enough. I can’t control my emotions.” He shook his head. “Just tell me how many people.”

Samson frowned, but when Bruce glared at him, he caved with a sigh. “Only two.”

Bruce didn’t feel relief. It had to be bad, if he had been restrained in the hospital.

“One was badly injured. Internal bleeding, broken leg, concussion. He’ll live.”

Bruce waited, dreading what he’d hear, but he _had to know_. “And the other?”

The therapists eyes turned sad, but he spoke smoothly. “Blunt force trauma to the head. Three broken ribs. A punctured lung. Hemorrhaging…” Samson went on, reciting the injuries, but Bruce suddenly couldn’t hear him over the pounding in his head, because he knew they were dead. The confirmation was in the injuries, the sadness in Samson’s eyes, the restraints.

And then Bruce was hyperventilating, because the other guy had escalated so much, that he’d _killed_ , and Bruce had no idea why. He saw Samson’s face in front of his, felt hands on his shoulders, and heard the dull roar of a voice, but it was slowly being drowned out by the darkness. Bruce suffocated on it, felt it swallowing him, pulling him deep. And then he was gone.

* * *

Bruce woke up with the dull ache receding behind his eyes, and he immediately knew that it was dark. The lights were dim, no light shining around the curtains, and it was quiet out in the hall.

He wasn’t restrained this time, so he quickly sat up and rubbed at his face, then pushed his hair back. He hadn’t been able to control himself. He had to know if anyone else was hurt because of him.

He stood, grabbed the IV pole, and headed out into the hall to find out, despite what it might do to him. His footsteps were loud as he padded against the squeaky clean floors, over to the nurses station across from the lounge, because there was no one else around but them.

He wanted to ask if anyone was hurt- because he just _loved_ torturing himself with this guilt- when a nurse looked up and her eyes widened slightly, that same nurse who’d told Bruce that Sampson was visiting him.

Bruce froze, realizing it probably wasn’t a good idea to be around her if he _had_ hurt someone. Or the other guy. “I’m sorry,” Bruce said quietly, glancing around nervously, not making eye contact with her. “I just wanted to make sure everyone was alright.”

He heard her let out a small breath. “We’re fine,” she told him, and her voice was steady and calm. Bruce looked up to see her give him a sincere nod. “We got to you before you could do anyone harm.”

Bruce let out a sigh of relief, and she smiled sadly. He began to walk, away from his room, to give her space. “I’m just going to stretch my legs.” There was a reason he’d stayed in his room when he’d sprained his arm; so the staff didn’t have to watch him and make sure he didn’t turn into a homicidal maniac right before their eyes.

But it was night, and there was no one around but the two nurses typing quietly away on their computers, speaking in murmurs. Bruce shouldn’t encounter anything that would bring his heart rate up.

As he walked down the hall, he glanced into the rooms of the permanent residents. The first looked to be a child’s, with flowers across the walls, pink blankets, a large stuffed dog piled on the couch, little dolls on the dresser. But this wasn’t pediatrics. They couldn’t be a minor, but maybe they liked that stuff. Or maybe she had been young, slipped into a coma, and now, years later, still hadn’t woken. It was a wild assumption, something Bruce shouldn’t even be thinking about, so he moved on.

In the next room the resident was still up, their room lit by a table lamp, sitting in their bed reading a book. Their room had books piled everywhere, along with piles of clothes, and a dream catcher above their bed. The next was dark, but Bruce could make out figures on the walls, probably posters of some sorts, covering most of the available wall space, some CDs scattered across a dresser, a box on their small loveseat. All of them, moved in, making the place their home.

In the next room the resident was also still up, their lamp on, but they just seemed to be staring at the ceiling. His room had boxes everywhere, two on the table, one by the bed, another by the door, some pushed up against the wall, all with parts of… something, spilling out of them. Bruce took a closer look at the box by the door, and saw what looked to be car parts. Bruce knew enough about engineering that he could be right, but why would there be car parts in his hospital room?

When Bruce looked back up, the man in the bed had turned his head and was now looking at Bruce. He froze under the blue gaze, shocked by how bruised his eyes looked, how pale he was, his dark hair an exaggerated contrast to his skin. And then Bruce recognized him. The man in the elevator, who had flirted with him. Except, there was no spark in his gaze, no grin, he just looked… sick.

“You’re that guy,” Bruce heard quietly, the same voice from the elevator, but weaker, and flatter. “That guy at the elevator.”

Bruce didn’t know if he should walk away or not, give the guy his space or hold up a conversation with the sick man. He stayed where he was for now, and just nodded. He was still curious as to why the guy had flirted with him, but that wasn’t what kept him there. He thought it might have been just seeing him all happy, and enthusiastic, and confident, and then later that same day weak, sick, and drained. What had changed?

The man turned his head back toward the ceiling. “I’m sorry about that,” he said slowly, his eyes closing briefly. “I usually feel horrible, but there are just some days… I feel so _great_ , so _alive_. This morning, I felt like my old self, before this.” He gestured vaguely to himself, cringing slightly.

Bruce found himself stepping into the room, taking his conversation as an invitation. Did that mean the guy had been flirtatious, confident, daring, before he came to the hospital? It seemed like the guy was lonely, so Bruce would indulge him. “What do you have?” It probably wasn’t the best of ideas, bringing up a sickness with a patient. Bruce knew he didn’t like talking about his condition with those that didn’t understand.

The man turned back to Bruce, brows lowering the slightest. “Liver failure.”

Bruce nodded, stepping around the love seat and avoiding stepping on loose parts. “Nauseous, vomiting, abdominal pain.” It made sense, why the guy wouldn’t feel like himself.

Stark’s brows lifted, and he nodded. “How’d you know?”

Bruce found himself smiling. “I went to college.”

The man laughed, but it came out as more of a croak. But his lips turned up, and there was a flash of teeth. “What about you?” He asked, glancing across Bruce’s scrubs.

Bruce paled. This man had just told him something private, that he didn’t even really have to share, and it was only fair that Bruce do the same. If not fairness, to keep the guy’s spirits alive without suspicion. So he told him, no matter how reluctant he was on the inside. “Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

The man frowned. “What’s that?”

Of course, most of the population liked to use the other term, but Bruce… the other guy was not him, not Bruce, but _the other guy_. But he kept his face neutral, giving a light smile, because this guy seemed nice enough, when he wasn’t freaking Bruce out by asking about sex. “Multiple Personalities.”

Stark smiled, his eyes sparkling in delight. “Why didn’t you just say that?” He asked playfully, though it was rhetorical. If he only knew the other guy was a monster, he probably wouldn’t be reacting this way. Words like monster and killer were regulars, and it was nice, someone not seeing that in Bruce for once.

Stark looked away, down at his arm, which had an IV prodding into it. Bruce saw the bruises on the inside of his elbow, which meant that he got a lot of needles into him. Bruce guessed, with his behavior earlier at the elevator, the man didn’t like it too much and pulled it out a lot.

He looked back up to see Stark watching him. “So, you’re new here. I don’t know your name.”

Bruce lowered his gaze, feeling the ache in his abdomen from the wound, and looking for a spot to sit. The closest thing was the loveseat, which had boxes on it. He moved, but instead of straining his stomach and moving the boxes, he just settled on the arm of it, still close enough to Stark to talk normally. “It’s a temporary situation. And I’m Bruce.”

“Tony,” Stark said, and nodded slowly, his lips forming Bruce’s name, but then he nodded again. “Lucky. I’ve been here for months, and I’m just sick of sitting here, waiting to die.”

It was Bruce’s turn to frown. He had feared that the man would ask about his condition, why he had to stay at the hospital for his condition, but instead… Bruce didn’t want to talk about death, not after what just happened. “What about a transplant?” He asked hopefully, trying to bring light back into the conversation.

Tony shook his head, turning back to the ceiling again. “It’s unlikely. I’m an alcoholic. Er, recovering. I’m low on the list, and everyone’s been touchy around the subject, but I know I won’t make it much longer.”

Somehow, Bruce had known his plan would fail. They usually always did. Bruce had to glance away from the man in the bed. The dying man.

“Don’t feel bad for me.” Bruce looked back to see the man watching him, expecting Tony to look sad, but he didn’t seem phased by the turn of events. “It’s my own fault. I got drunk every other night, worsened my condition. By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late. I did this to myself, and I deserve what’s coming.”

Bruce shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

Tony sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ve heard it all before,” he said, opening his eyes to look to the ceiling again. “I’m lucky to have lived this long.”

Bruce didn’t know what else to say. He’d have denied it further, tried to get the man to see it differently, but it reminded him of his conversation with Sampson earlier, before the other guy had shown up. That it was his fault the other guy was let loose, because Bruce couldn’t turn off his emotions. Tony was right, in his own way. “I guess none of us can win.”

Tony turned to him, brows furrowed, but Bruce was standing, making his way toward the door. He stopped right before stepping through it when Tony called out to him. “Are you alright?”

The doctor turned, brows lowered in confusion. “Yeah. Why?”

“I just…” Tony cringed, but he flattened out his expression quickly. “I saw you earlier, a man in your room. You looked like you were about to cry.”

Bruce felt his gut clench.

Tony continued. “I was still feeling good then, would have tried to cheer you up, but you had company. So I headed back to my room. And then… you started yelling, before the nurses went into your room.”

Bruce felt his breath catch, his chest fluttering in fear. “A-and what did I say?” Other than the few recordings with Sampson, Bruce- or, rather, the other guy- hadn’t been on camera much for Bruce to know what he said. Sampson didn’t go into detail about it, just said that the other guy is trying to protect, to fight, because Bruce won’t. Bruce isn’t sure he wants to believe it, but it was there, in the videos. And he needed to know all he could.

Tony frowned, but thankfully, he told him. “I’m not sure if I heard you right. You wanted him to stay away, because he made you feel miserable, bringing up everything you’d been through. Except you were talking in the third person.” His brows twitched. “You don’t remember?”

Bruce backed away to the door, shaking his head. “I’m fine,” was all he could say as he headed back to his room.

 _He_ couldn’t care, not when he did all these horrible things. It didn’t make sense, why the other guy said he wanted to help, but then he hurt people. Bruce obviously felt guilt, and if _he_ did want to help... Bruce shook his head. He was crazy. He was a liar. He was evil. Bruce wanted nothing to do with him.

* * *

Tony felt restless in his bed all night. His abdomen hurt too much to sit in one position for long, so he stood, hoping the movement of pacing would help. It didn’t. Along with the pain, he made trips to the bathroom to vomit and dry heave. Symptoms. He refused medication from the nurses, because he hated the dark unconsciousness, and the feeling of sweatiness in the morning when he woke.

But Bruce had been a nice change.

Normally, the nurses frowned at him when he was up this late, and Rhodey and Pepper refused to stay the night with him so he could “get his rest.” But rest came when it came, whether in the morning, afternoon, or night. Tony didn’t force it. So it was nice, having someone to talk to, although the conversation got dark real quick thanks to Tony’s pessimism, and he was sure they got to a touchy subject when Bruce was leaving.

He’d heard of multiple personalities before. Some people had a few, and then others had dozens. Some had complete opposite personalities, some acted younger, or older, or a different gender. But he wasn’t going to ask Bruce, because like he thought, it was too touchy. And it wasn’t like they were friends or anything; they’d spoken twice, and the first time didn’t even count because Tony had pretty much just asked the guy to have sex with him in an elevator.

Tony eventually made it out into the hall and toward the lounge, because his room was bugging him. The nurses gave him glances, but they knew his sleep schedule was off, and so he ignored them, and they ignored him.

He froze as he came into the lounge.

Bruce was there, at the large windows, looking out. He bounced on his heels and leaned to the left, to look out from a different angle. He looked… restless. It had only been a few hours since they’d spoken, was Bruce still thinking about it?

“Bruce, I thought you went to bed,” Tony said, dragging his IV pole with him as he weaved around the multiple couches and side tables. He stopped beside Bruce, but the man was still staring out, glancing up at the moon then the city. “Bruce?”

The man gave him a sideway glance, then continued studying outside. Then he did a double take. “What do you want?” He asked, turning back to the window.

Tony frowned in confusion. Tony hadn’t thought the man to be rude. “Sorry, I just thought you’d be sleeping at this hour.”

The man glanced down, gently touching his stomach. “Ah, yes, the _gunshot_ wound,” he said, rolling his eyes back at the window.

“Wait, you’ve been shot?” Tony asked, reaching out to the man.

Bruce jumped back, glaring, causing Tony to pull back. His voice was laced with sarcasm, as it was when he spoke of the gunshot wound. “ _Yes_ , the police don’t take violence too kindly. They tend to shoot when you attack them.”

“Why the hell would you attack them?” Tony asked, thoroughly confused, not sure what to do with the situation.

Bruce looked confused for a moment, then he looked disgusted. “ _I_ didn’t do it. The whiner did it.” He rolled his eyes again, turning back to the window. “Wants to put down _every_ threat. Doesn’t believe that Bruce can take care of himself, if he has to.”

Tony took a step back, pulling his IV pole with him. The way he was speaking… Tony figured it out pretty quick. He tried to remain calm, keep the conversation casual. “Who are you, exactly?”

The man shifted on his feet. “I am Joe,” he said, giving Tony another side-look.

Tony nodded, backing away even further. “Well, it’s almost dawn, so you should get at least a little sleep. Joe.”

The man blinked, squinting out the window. Then he was gone, rushing out of the lounge and down the hall opposite Tony’s, turning sharply into a room, as if his life was at stake or something.

Tony made his way back to his room, suddenly not up to walking anymore.

* * *

Tony walked over to check on Bruce- because after last night, the whole Joe incident, Tony didn’t know what to think about this whole multiple personalities thing- but he paused before he reached the door, hearing voices inside.

“-just making sure you’re alright, that he’s not-“

“I’m fine, I’m Bruce. Bringing everything up is what triggers him. I just want it all to go away. Can’t anyone understand that?” There was a pause. “Just make him go away.” That last part was said quietly, and Tony’s felt like his heart was breaking, because Bruce sounded so small, so weak.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” the other man said. “That would be like killing someone, and we both know how much you’re opposed to that.”

“Wait, did you want him to come out? Is that what this is? Somehow he’s become a priority?” Bruce paused, his voice rising. “He’s a killer, Leonard! He doesn’t deserve to be reasoned with.”

“He is a person, Bruce, same as you. And he needs help, more than you do.” Tony can’t believe that the man sounded so calm. He didn’t know what was going on, not completely, but it sounded like the guy wasn’t seeing right. To Tony, it sounded like Bruce’s other personality- Joe?- was dangerous, and had been terrorizing someone for a long time, and Bruce couldn’t stop it.

“I can’t believe this,” Bruce said quietly, then spoke up again. “Leave. I-I’m trying to heal, and you’re disrupting that.”

Tony heard the excuse, and so did the other man, this Leonard. “Fine. I’ll go. But we’re not done talking about this.”

Moments later, the man that was not Bruce walked out of the room, giving Tony a glance as he passed by, and then Tony moved into the doorway to look for Bruce.

He was sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the floor in front of him. When Tony stepped further into the room, he looked up, and Tony saw the tears in his chocolate brown eyes. Without thought Tony stepped forward and closed his arms around Bruce, who immediately slumped into Tony, shoulders shaking.

Tony didn’t think he understood what was happening, but he wanted to make it better for this man, who could be his friend. But at that moment, he didn’t think he could help.

* * *

It was the next day when Tony asked Bruce to come to his room.

“Why?” Bruce asked quietly, rubbing his still damp hair from the shower he’d taken.

Tony threw his hands up from his spot by the door. “Because your room is boring, and at least in mine we can do stuff.”

Bruce laughed and he stood, receiving an excited grin from Tony. “Like what, fix car parts?”

Tony’s eyes widened as Bruce followed him out into the hall. “I happen to design cars, and my babies are nothing without those parts,” he said, offended, eyes still wide as he stared at Bruce.

It was sixty-three steps to Tony’s room, as he explained how a car was nothing without the little parts. That much was obvious, but how Tony explained it, he made it sound like a religion.

When they made it into Tony’s room, he went to the box on the dresser as Bruce took a seat on the now cleared off couch. Tony came back a moment later with a hand full of papers and tossed them down onto the cluttered coffee table as he settled onto the cushion next to Bruce.

Bruce gaped at the papers, and tentatively reached out to lift one. It was a drawing of a car, a fast one, if Bruce could tell by the headlights. The next was a sketch of an engine, axis and brakes, ignition lines.

“I don’t draw them, I just jot down whatever is in my head, and then do the schematics over the internet. But a friend of mine draws those up before submissions, so the CEO can get an idea of what we’re working on. But you don’t care about that.”

Bruce turned to him. “Are your cars popular for someone who knows nothing about cars to hear of them?”

Tony grinned, sifting through the pile of papers in search of a specific one.

* * *

Tony slid into Bruce’s room, a grin on his face. “Bruce!”

The doctor shot up, startled from his slumber.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, though he totally wasn’t. “It’s eleven at night.”

Bruce rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a groan, hair hanging in his face. “Your point?” Then he dropped his hands with a frown, eyes wide open. “Wait, is this one of your ‘alive’ days? Er, nights?”

Tony nodded, grin growing even more to reveal teeth. He hadn’t thrown up the entire day, and when he woke up from his nap he was a little dizzy at first, but this was close enough.

Bruce pushed his blankets off himself and stood, gripping the bed for a moment as he touched his stomach. Tony wanted to ask if he was okay, but he did his best not to react because he didn’t know if Bruce was okay with him knowing about Joe. It was still weird, thinking about Bruce not being Bruce, but it seemed like Bruce was in control most of the time.

Then Tony noticed the clothes on Bruce’s body. Not scrubs, but gray sweatpants and a green long-sleeved shirt. Tony wondered where he got the clothes from, but after Bruce put some slippers on, he approached him, eyes squinted as he looked across Tony’s face. “You still look pale, your eyes-”

Tony waved his hand at him. “But I _feel_ fine, that’s all that matters.” He inched out of the room, encouraging Bruce to follow him.

The doctor did, but when they turned to the left instead of the right- Tony’s room was to the right- he glanced at the nurse’s station. “I don’t think the nurses will appreciate us walking around this late.”

Tony waved his hand again, leading his friend down the hall. “It’s fine, my sleep schedule is wacked, so they know I walk around a lot. Plus, when I’m feeling alright, they want me to enjoy myself.” He glanced at Bruce over his shoulder, who was following, his gaze curious. “I enjoy your company, Bruce.”

He caught Bruce’s small smile as the doctor glanced to the floor. Tony smiled, too, stopping at the elevator to hit the up button. Bruce stopped next to him, and Tony glanced at the man when his eyes darted over to Tony. “Uh, you’re not- I-” His eyes shifted to the elevator doors, now opening, then back to Tony, his eyes widening.

It took a moment for Tony to realize what was happening, and then he was smirking, stepping into the elevator. “I promise I’m not going to hit on you again,” he said, hitting the button for the top floor. As he looked out to Bruce, still frozen in shock, he caught the blush across the other man’s cheeks, but he stepped in anyways, glancing uncertainly at Tony.

Tony kept to his side of the elevator, giving the man his space. He tried not to think about that blush, and what the other man was thinking, because this was all temporary. He couldn’t become _friends_ with the man, much less _more,_ because soon, he’d be gone, and he couldn’t do that to Bruce. Couldn’t let him believe that they were _something_ \- which they clearly weren’t- and then take it all away.

So not matter how much he wanted to delve into _those_ possibilities, ones that led to blushes and awkward looks that shouldn’t be awkward, he had to keep this simple. And it was. Mostly.

“So, what, exactly, are we doing?” Bruce asked, voice obviously strained.

Tony looked up at the flickering numbers indicating their moving up. “Well, we’ve been cooped up inside for the past few days, and normally we’d need an escort if we wanted to go somewhere, but I thought the roof was good enough fresh air.”

Bruce nodded, looking up as well. “Fresh air sounds nice.”

He also wasn’t going to bring up that Joe seemed so lost inside, like he desperately wanted to go outside and be a part of the world. Joe also seemed like a jerk, with all the sarcasm and no concern for his- _their-_ injury. But it wasn’t just Bruce in there, and if they knew what was happening when Bruce was out but not the other way around, then Joe- or if there was anyone else in there, them too- they deserved the fresh air as well. Even a killer, Tony supposed.

The elevator _binged_ , and the doors slid open. Tony stepped out and headed right, toward the end of the hall and the stairwell. “We’ll have to take the last floor by the stairs,” he said, opening the door and holding it open. He pointed to Bruce’s abdomen. “Are you going to be okay going up?”

Bruce approached him, glancing down at himself, then back up with a light smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said, heading through the door.

Tony nodded to himself, then followed.

Bruce lost all uneasiness when he saw the view, which Tony was grateful for. He wanted them to be themselves up here. Tony headed over to the edge and the railing there as Bruce gaped at the sparkling lights of the city.

Tony sat down on the ledge, gripping the bar. When he was settled, he wrapped his arms around the lower ring, his head fitting between that and the higher one. Then he looked out at the city and the glowing lights, a different view than his room. It wasn’t as great as his place, but the best he could get at the hospital.

Bruce joined him a moment later, teeth clenched with the movements, but he never complained aloud. And then the two were sitting side by side, just staring out at the city. Tony felt himself smiling, enjoying the calm.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Tony gave a small, sad smile, involuntarily looking down for a moment at his red t-shirt. “I try not to let the little things get to me,” he told Bruce. “You know, with everything.” He gestured down at his body, then pressed his lips into a line with the somber mood that settled over them.

It was another minute before Bruce bowed his head, causing Tony to look over at him. Bruce’s brows were lowered as he stared at nothing in particular, deep in thought.

“What’s up?” Tony asked, hoping it wasn’t the whole dying thing. He forgot to keep his mouth shut, at times, but it was true, nevertheless.

Bruce blinked, keeping his gaze at that unfocused point. He spoke slowly, brows twitching. “Did you ask the nurses about my… injury?” He asked, and Tony frowned at the question. “Because of doctor patient confidentiality, they couldn’t have told you. And I didn’t tell you.”

Tony felt his gut clench, and he quickly turned away. Shit, that was right. It was _Joe_. Tony hadn’t even known until Joe told him. Was it weird for Bruce that Tony had talked to Joe, without him knowing? Tony didn’t want to bring it up, because the whole thing was so confusing, he thought he’d let it go because it was Bruce most of the time; he didn’t think he’d ever meet Joe again. But Tony had to tell him, it suddenly felt so wrong not to. But how?

When Bruce looked to Tony, waiting, Tony felt his shoulders slump. He rubbed his forehead, not sure how to say it. _Hey, so I spoke to Joe last night, he seemed cool. And mean. Does that happen often?_ Tony shook his head, deciding to simply say, “Joe.”

He turned to Bruce, who blinked, expression blank. “ _Joe_.”

Tony nodded. Did Bruce even know about Joe? “Uh, yeah. I was out walking around last night, and then you were there, at the window in the lounge. Or at least I _thought_ it was you.” Bruce’s eyes widened, but Tony continued, because it was fine, it had to be fine, why freak out? “But he said he was Joe. And that you’d been shot. Well, not you, but… someone else.” Tony turned back, trying to remember. There was no name, besides “whiner.” Would Bruce know who that was, too? Or no? It was all too confusing.

But Bruce was scrambling to his feet in a rush, breathing labored, and Tony struggled to follow him. When he was standing, Bruce was already by the door, hands on his head. Tony moved to follow him, but he didn’t go to the door, just stopped by it, so Tony waited. “No, no, no, no.” He shook his head, hands forming fists in his hair.

“Bruce?” Tony asked, concerned, the roof and fresh air now completely forgotten. What was happening here? Should he have brought up Joe? He wasn’t good with panic, not his own or others’.

“I’m fine,” Bruce muttered, taking in a deep breath, lowering his hands. He tilted his face to the sky, his eyes closed. “It’s fine.”

He had a feeling Bruce wasn’t talking to him.

Bruce suddenly turned to him, eyes open, and there was panic there. “It was just Joe?” He asked quickly. “He didn’t threaten you?”

Tony’s brows lowered as he shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I mean, the guy was a little rude, but if I’d known it was him, we could have hung out, I’m okay with a little rude.”

Bruce let out a sigh of relief, eyes turning down. “Good, good.”

“Good?” Tony asked, uncertain.

Bruce nodded, rubbing his face as he relaxed. “Joe is fine.”

Tony shifted on his feet, brows still lowered. “Alright. Good, I guess.” After a moment, he continued. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to understand. How many… Is this…” He shook his head. Which question first?

But Bruce lowered his hands and spoke. “Joe is… rare,” he said quietly, eyes glazing over in thought. “It’s not him I’m worried about. There’s,” he swallowed. “Another.”

Tony nodded, feeling himself frown. “The dangerous one.”

Bruce nodded, too. He let out a breath as he shifted, eyes lifting. “It’s just-” He shook his head. “I don’t talk about it much, except to my therapist, and some doctors.”

Tony stepped back. “It’s fine, you don’t have to. It’s just new for me, and Joe was only there for a few minutes, so I really only know you.”

Bruce finally looked to him. “No, it’s probably time I told someone. I’ll have to get used to it soon anyhow.”

Tony didn’t know what that meant, really, but he said nothing.

Bruce looked away again. “The other guy is dangerous.” Not Joe, or he would have said Joe. Right? “At first, he just threatened, stayed on defense. But lately…” Bruce looked like he was choking, and Tony felt his eyes watering. This subject was hard for Bruce. So why was he telling Tony this if it hurt so much?

Bruce managed a breath, clenching his fists until his knuckles were white. “It started a few years ago. Something changed. He got aggressive, and instead of waiting for an attack, he put it down before it could come. He hurt people before they could hurt him.” He shook his head again. “I’m being moved to an institution. My therapist came to tell me. After I leave here. The drugs there… they’ll make sure all the…” Now, he looked slightly angry. “The personalities won’t be as lucid. He won’t be as dangerous.”

Tony felt his eyes widen in shock, hearing what this man was telling him. “But Bruce, what about you?”

Bruce’s gaze lifted once more to Tony’s, filled with so many emotions. Sadness, regret, reluctantness, guilt. “It’s for the best.”

Tony had to look away, so he could think. Bruce was going to let himself be _numbed_ , all so, just in case, the dangerous personality couldn’t hurt people. “You’re such a good person,” Tony said, because he finally realized that it was true. He was going to give up his life to stop this other personality, and Bruce had probably given up so much in the past as well. He didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, Tony could see that now.

It was Tony that opened the door and headed down the stairs first, not stopping at the landing, because he didn’t want to stop and face this.

He heard Bruce follow him down, calling for him. Tony glared at the stairs as he trudged down them, Bruce hot on his trail, pleading with him to stop.

“No,” Tony said, hitting the second landing. Three more flights to go. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“What, protecting people?” Bruce asked, and he sounded angry, too.

“You’re not even going to try.” Two more flights. The echo of their footsteps filled the short silence.

“Try what?”

Tony shrugged, catching a glimpse of Bruce on the flight above him as they passed each other. “I don’t know, talk to the guy, convince him to stop. _Something_. I understand why I’m giving up on life; I’m _dying_ , I have no chance. But you still do. You can-”

Bruce’s forced laughter interrupted him. “You can’t compare our situations.” One more flight. “I’ve tried to control it, but he’s determined not to let the past repeat itself.”

Tony rolled his eyes, continuing on. The slamming of the door, too, echoed across the stairwell, but it was quickly muted as Tony left the empty space and stepped through the doorway. “How vague,” he said, turning down the hall. He didn’t know why he was so… _affected_ by this, but he was. It meant something, but Tony couldn’t think about that right then. Only his anger. A drink was starting to sound like a good idea.

“It was my father,” Bruce said, pausing to open the door and continue to follow him. “He killed my mother when I was a kid.”

Tony froze, just outside Bruce’s room. Had he heard that right?

Bruce was right behind him now, voice quieter. “That was the first time he… He comes out to protect me, or us, whatever the hell it is.” He paused, voice still angry, but Tony didn’t think it was directed at him anymore. “He comes out so that can never happen again, something so precious being taken away. We think alike, that way. I don’t get attached, and he makes sure we stay alive, because if he hadn’t done that after my mother, then I’d be dead, too.”

No…

“Anthony Stark,” a woman’s voice said, sternly yet concerned, as if she’d said it multiple times, but Tony’s mind was too jumbled to put everything together, to react. What Bruce had said, Tony didn’t think he understood all of it. There wasn’t enough detail, there was something missing that he didn’t know.

And Bruce’s mother…

But he had to focus on the woman in front of him, a nurse, because she was squeezing his shoulder, shaking him. “Mr. Stark, did you hear me?”

Tony blinked, and roughly shook his head.

“We have to move, _now,_ ” she said, shaking him lightly again. “The surgeon is on his way, and you have to get ready for surgery. Your emergency contact has been notified, she said she’d be here as soon as she can.” The nurse smiled at him. “We’re so happy for you.”

Tony blinked, catching a glimpse of another nurse and a moving stretcher. He didn’t think he was hearing her right, but as they moved him and congratulated him, he knew he had.

Tony was getting a liver.

* * *

Bruce paced the waiting room. It was only a pre-surgery check, to make sure Tony would be ready for the new liver, but it had to be quick, because the liver wouldn’t last long outside a body. And then they’d move him, and he’d go into surgery.

But it was still nerve racking, being the support for someone else, and this was so big, it meant that Tony would _live_. Bruce hadn’t really thought about Tony dying any time soon, though the man had brought it up plenty of times. Because Bruce had always imagined leaving the hospital before that could happen, and then he’d never know if Tony had made it or not.

But now, after they’d gotten so close, Bruce knew he’d be there for Tony if he needed him, because Tony had asked him to, as they were pulling him away.

“Is this your first time?”

Bruce almost jumped at the voice, at someone speaking so near to him, without him knowing that someone _was_ near him. He stopped his pacing and looked up from the floor to see a young man, a teenager, a row over from Bruce’s pacing, but staring up at him. “I’m sorry?”

The teen smiled softly, lowering the magazine in his hands. He was tall- Bruce could tell by his long limbs- with bright blonde hair and silver piercings up his ears. He had on jeans, a white t-shirt, and a plaid shirt hanging open, sleeves rolled up, and Bruce searched his bare, extremely thick and muscled arms for a hospital bracelet, but found none. “Is this your first time in the waiting room?”

Bruce tapped his chin, feeling the urge to begin pacing again. Would that be okay for this conversation? “Yes?”

The young man shrugged. “I see your bracelet, but with the pacing, I just assumed…” After a moment of silence, he continued, voice calm and reassuring. “This is my boyfriend’s third surgery,” he said with a blush, glancing uncertainly up at Bruce, “and I looked just like you my first time waiting here.” He shrugged again. “From my experience, a distraction helps. Someone to talk to, something to do.”

Bruce nodded in agreement, because that made sense, a distraction. Would it help?

“Who are you waiting for?”

Bruce finally sits down, because it’d be rude to carry on a conversation with someone while pacing. And he didn’t see the harm in actually conversing. “He’s a friend. His name is Tony, and we met a few days ago, when I got admitted.”

The young man leaned forward an inch, eyebrows raised. “Tony as in Tony Stark, the guy that was just wheeled by a while ago?”

Bruce met his excited gaze with curiosity. “You know Tony?”

The kid laughed, lifting the magazine he was holding. It was a car magazine. “He only makes the coolest cars ever.”

Bruce felt himself smiling, shaking his head. Of course he knew Tony, because who didn’t? Bruce, actually, until five days ago. “So, you have a boyfriend?” Bruce asked, not out of judgment, but interest.

The kid blushed again, and Bruce had a feeling he did that whenever he spoke about his boyfriend. “Do you want to hear the story of how we met?”

Bruce nodded, because he was now thoroughly curious. “I would love the distraction.”

“I’m Teddy, by the way.”

“Bruce.”

The younger man leaned back in his chair, the magazine completely forgotten and discarded on the table at his side. The blush was still present, but he had a small smile across his face as he told the tale. “I first saw Billy in the entertainment section of the store, standing in front of the display TVs with two four or five year olds, singing along to a Disney movie…”

* * *

Bruce was in the waiting room, his knees tapping nervously. Up and down, up and down. He tried to count the bounces to calm his nerves, but his knee was too fast, and after a few dozen he’d lost track and had to start over again. So he gave up, and moved on to stare at passing nurses and visitors, leaning his head in his hand, sitting in the uncomfortable waiting chair.

He’d asked about a dozen times how long the surgery would last, but he kept forgetting because all he heard was _too long_. _Too long for something to happen, for something to go wrong_.

And what if Tony _did_ make it? Then he’d be healed, and Bruce would still be broken. Guilt filled him by just thinking that. Because Tony would still struggle; he said he still had to go to AA regularly, which was a big part of Tony’s life that he dreaded and cherished equally. Or so Tony told him after they’d talked about cars one night.

If Tony was here, Bruce wouldn’t be worrying about it. Tony would just give him this look, the one that appreciated everything, and Bruce would feel grateful that he had actually helped someone for a change, instead of ruin their life with his problem.

 _Ugh_ , _stop thinking_ , he thought, because he was ruining himself. He didn’t know how much a friend could help him, how much _Tony_ could help him.

A clearing of a throat, too close to Bruce, caused the man to look up to see a young woman standing nervously over him. Bruce didn’t see much of her but the long wavy brown hair, rolled up long-sleeved shirt, the thick leather band across her wrist, and the rectangle she clutched in her hands to her stomach.

“Uh, hi,” she said, sitting on the table directly in front of Bruce. “I don’t mean to sound weird or anything, but I was waiting, too, if you didn’t notice me over there.” She vaguely gestured over her shoulder, across the almost empty waiting room. “Anyway, I draw. A lot. And you were just over here, and you looked so sad, and I was drawing you before I could stop myself.” She looked down, detangling the rectangle from herself, what Bruce now realized was a sketch pad.

“I normally don’t go around handing out drawings of people, because that would be weird, too, so this might be weird,” she said, looking down at her sketchbook as she flipped through the pages, and Bruce watched in a daze as she caught glimpses of charcoal, page after page, until she settled on a page and ripped it out. “And I also don’t want to make you cry or anything, because it looks like you’re going to, but if you do I will totally give you a hug if you need it.”

She handed the paper she’d ripped out over to him, biting her lip nervously. “I don’t want this to be a horrible memory for you, and if it is, feel free to rip it to shreds.” She shrugged, still holding it out. “But if everything goes good, like I always hope it does while I sit here, then this could be that memory where you didn’t have to worry, that everything was okay, even though it felt like the world was falling apart.”

Bruce felt cold as he slowly lifted his hand out and grasped the paper.

Then the woman was standing, her head whipping toward the doors as a blond man holding a jacket over his shoulder walked in. The bracelet around his wrist identified him as a patient, but he looked fine as he sauntered over toward the opposite hallway, his eyes on the brunette. She gave Bruce one more glance, then stepped away, and made her way over to the man. He slung his arm over her shoulder, and she looked up at him, asking him how it went. He simply shrugged, and together, with one last glance back at Bruce, they made their way down the hall where they would eventually leave the building.

Bruce turned to the paper, numb, and shifted it into both hands. It was all done in gray, a man sitting in a chair, with a painting of swirls on the wall behind him. The man had his hand at his forehead, covering his face in shadows, but the shadowing by the artist… it made the picture seem so depressing. And instead of a line of chairs, there was only one beside the man, a seat reserved for someone else, a seat that would never sit anyone ever again.

A tear slipped down Bruce’s cheek, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear the drawing apart.

He wished the other guy could protect him from _this_.

* * *

Staring at that drawing made Bruce realize two things.

One, that he never knew he needed a friend so much. That empty seat next to him had always been empty, until Tony.

And two, he wasn’t sure that he should call Tony a friend.

When the nurses told him Tony was out of surgery, Bruce bolted to his feet, but the nurse held her hand on his chest, stopping him from moving. “He’s in recovery, and he’ll need rest.”

Bruce nodded, because of course, he’d have to wait even _longer_ to see Tony. “But he’s okay?”

The nurse nodded with a smile. “The surgery went well. Miss Potts is with him now, but he shouldn’t wake for another few hours.”

As the nurse led Bruce… _somewhere_ , he tried to think of who Miss Potts was. Tony hadn’t spoken about any friends, but she must be his emergency contact. She had to be _someone_ important enough for Tony to have her as an emergency contact, but who?

And then they were there, outside the room. Tony was unconscious in the bed, the lights were dimmed, and a woman was in the dark corner, a cell phone pressed to her ear. She was tall, in a white blouse and black skirt, with black heels, her red hair pulled back into a pony tail. She spoke quietly, glancing at the unconscious man in the bed as she spoke.

Bruce turned back to the nurse uncertainly, but she was gone. When he looked back into the room, the redhead was looking at him. “Hold on, Happy.” And then she was in the doorway, smiling kindly to Bruce, the cell phone pressed to her chest. “Hi, you must be Bruce.”

Bruce gaped at her. Tony told her about him? That had to mean something, right? “Uh,” was all Bruce could manage, because he had no idea what to say to her.

She simply shook her head, amused. “Of course Tony didn’t tell you about me.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Pepper Potts, Mr. Stark’s assistant, and one of his rare friends.”

Bruce clasped her hand in his. Tony had an assistant. “Nice to meet you.”

Her smile grew. “Tony doesn’t know how to take care of himself, I’m basically his nanny. Even when he got admitted, I still had to come down here to convince him to listen to the nurses.” She laughed with a roll of her eyes.

Then, suddenly, she got serious. “Do you want to stay with him?”

Bruce stepped back. He thought he was thoroughly confused, or shocked. Something. “No, it’s fine, you stay.”

Pepper lifted the cell phone. “I have to take this call anyway, there’s a screw up in the company files.”

Bruce didn’t really know what that meant, but she made to move past him, so he nodded. “Okay.”

She smiled. “Great. I know he’d love the company.” And then she was moving down the hall, bringing the phone back to her ear, her voice becoming quieter until it was a dull buzz in the background.

Bruce took in a breath as he stared into Tony’s room, and the man in the bed, preparing himself. But the man wasn’t even awake, so why was he suddenly nervous? Nervous and anxious and fearful all at the same time? Times two. Or two hundred.

Bruce finally stepped into the room, because if he didn’t now, he didn’t think he would at all, and Pepper said he’d need the company. If he woke up any time soon. And if Bruce could stay awake.

He’d been up for hours, how many he didn’t know, and the day before that. Two days maybe. He took a seat in the chair, pulling it slightly so it wasn’t pressed against the wall, but leaving some space between it and the bed. Then he sat down, eyes darting up to Tony’s face, but it remained blank, the man still asleep. Probably would be for hours more.

But now that Bruce knew that Tony was safe, and alive, he could relax. And think about their conversation on the roof. And the stairwell. And what it all meant.

So the two were definitely close; Tony actually cared. Not like Sampson did, or the nurses. He saw Bruce’s DID, not as a condition, but as a part of him. Like he didn’t need to be fixed, or cured.

But Bruce didn’t understand. He was violent, or the other guy was. He _did_ need to be fixed, or more importantly, locked away. He didn’t understand how he wasn’t already. He already got the suspicious looks laced with fear from most that knew about his condition, like he was about to tear anyone up that looked at him. And he needed Tony to see that, but the man didn’t.

Instead, Tony was angry that Bruce, like everyone else, was just accepting that he’d be locked away and dealt with accordingly.

_I can’t believe you’re doing this._

_What, protecting people?_

_You’re not even going to try._

_Try what?_

_I don’t know, talk to the guy, convince him to stop._ Something _. I understand why I’m giving up on life; I’m dying, I have no chance. But you still do._

Give up on life? Bruce hadn’t thought of it like that. He’d thought of it like how he said: protecting people.

_But Bruce, what about you?_

_It’s for the best._

Yes, Bruce had to stop the guy, lock him up before he could struggle, not wait to hear him out where he could strike first.

_I’m dying, I have no chance. But you still do._

Bruce shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to concentrate on what was necessary, not a fantasy. He couldn’t.

 _You’re such a good person_. For not wanting to protect people, Bruce supposed so. Keeping others safe from the other guy.

 _It’s for the best_.

Bruce breathed deeply, knowing in his heart that it was true.

_But you still do._

He wouldn’t have a life if he gave himself over to the institution. He’d spent the last few years fighting, and he would continue to do so. Because he couldn’t let the other guy take over his life. Tony was right about that.

And just like that, it was decided.

Tony was right.

Bruce had to try.

And he would.

He jolted himself from his thoughts, a calming sense of accomplishment settling over him. He could worry about that later, when the situations arose, with proper treatment. He’d have to wait for a therapist to walk him through it, and figure out a way on how to communicate with the other guy when he came out. Maybe Bruce could record himself, and when the other guy came out, the therapist could play the tape for him. But what Bruce would say… he’d think of that when the time came.

Right now, he was himself. He could start living.

He smiled, relaxed once again, and looked up to the unconscious man in the bed. “Thank you,” he said quietly, softly, admiration in his voice. “For helping me see.”

He wondered if Tony could hear him, even in sleep; it was known for some to. So he continued talking, not because he thought it would help at all, but because talking to Tony felt right.

“I use to hate hospitals,” Bruce said, with a roll of his eyes in amusement. “For obvious reasons, really. All the sick and dying, and me, just sitting there, causing someone else in that building harm but not even knowing. I use to feel so…” he frowned, thinking of the proper word. “Alone. Guilty, obviously, and scared. But mostly alone.

“So when I woke up this last time, tied to a bed with a bullet hole in my stomach, the feeling was tripled. Everyone looks at me like I’m a monster, but I’m really just the victim trapped inside. And then you…” Bruce chuckled, cheeks flushing. “You came out of that elevator, and you hit on me. I was shocked. The building full of injured people, everyone sad, hoping to live another day…” He shook his head. “But then there was you, who didn’t pay attention to any of that.”

Bruce looked away, wondering where he was going with this. “It was nice, is all.”

He knew he spoke some more, but about what, he didn’t know. It was all a blur, exhaustion quickly drowning it all out. He thought he talked about the kid from the waiting room, how he knew Tony just by his cars. Pepper may have returned, and he may have had a conversation with her, but if anyone were to ask him, he was sure he couldn’t tell them what it was about.

The next thing he knew, he was startled into a sitting position, but he was already half-sitting, so he almost fell out of the chair with the movement. He blinked hard, trying to focus on what had woken him, what was happening.

He was in a hospital room, but he wasn’t the one in the bed. Tony sat there, the bed pulled up so he could rest on the pillows. His eyes were open now, and they were locked onto Bruce, a small smile on his face. “How long have you been sitting there?” The man asked, and Bruce didn’t know if his tone was one of adoration or mockery.

He felt himself blushing anyway as he blinked again and settled back into the chair. He tried to stretch his cramped muscles out. “I’m not sure,” he said, brows furrowing as he tried to calculate, but he didn’t think he’d looked at a clock in hours, so how could he even know? “Awhile.”

He glanced over Tony, noticing how his skin wasn’t as pale, and the bruises around his eyes had lessened. “How are you feeling?”

Tony shifted, as if testing his body, and glanced to the ceiling. “Not sure. I think I hurt, a little, but I was cut open, so that makes sense. But I don’t feel like throwing up, at least not yet.” He turned back to Bruce, who stood and approached the bed. He saw Tony watch him as he glanced at any visible body parts- which was just Tony’s arms, part of his chest, and his face- for any signs of distress. He seemed fine, at least on the outside.

“Think I’ll be okay?” Tony asked, but it was so quiet and doubtful, Bruce looked up with concern. Tony looked down at his hand in front of Bruce, which was fiddling with the bed sheets. Nervous.

Bruce reached out and took hold of it, to keep him from straying toward bad thoughts. “If your body was rejecting the liver, you probably wouldn’t feel fine right now. But it’s a forty-eight hour observation period, so…”

Tony looked up, as if he wasn’t expecting the answer, but he quickly gave a tiny smile, squeezing Bruce’s hand.

Bruce continued to fill the silence. “Looks like I might get to see the old you again.”

A spark of hope lit in Tony’s eyes. “So you’re not going to become a mindless, drugged nut-job at a psych ward?”

Bruce laughed at the over use of words. It was a good sign. “I’ll try not to.”

A smirk passed Tony’s face, and before Bruce knew what was happening, there was a face in front of him, lips pressed against his, and a nose pressed against his cheek. He barely had time to register that it was a kiss- yes, Tony was kissing him, his lips were encompassing his, and there was the rub of facial hair- before it was ending seconds after it started. “Good.” He plopped back down on the bed with a cringe. “Part of the old me, but don’t worry; I’m not letting that asshole come back completely.”

Bruce blinked, trying to decide on whether or not he should ask what that was, and why he wanted more of it, but he turned his attention to more pressing matters. “Your stitches?” He asked, because Tony had cringed, and sitting up to kiss Bruce wasn’t good for him.

Tony waved him off. “I’m fine, been through worse.”

Bruce nodded, reasoning that it could be true, but becoming distracted when Tony just stared at him, then glanced down at his lips. Bruce found his own gaze lowering, and then he was leaning forward, so Tony didn’t have to move again. His chest fluttered as he did, the anticipation of actually kissing Tony back this time firing his nerves. He had to know…

Tony stayed put, but his eyes fluttered close as Bruce got closer, and then he closed his own eyes as he pressed his lips to the other mans’. Tony immediately sucked in a breath through his nose as his lips moved across Bruce’s, pulling a small _hmm_ from Bruce. Then he felt a tug on his shirt, and vaguely registered a fist knotting into his shirt and a sigh escape the man under him.

Bruce felt a warm buzz spread across him as the small tug deepened the kiss. The kiss definitely felt good. Right.

They broke apart with grins, and Bruce leaned back some to look the other man in the face, who looked as content as Bruce felt.

Definitely more than friends.

* * *

“For some reason the universe is giving me-  _me_ \- a second chance. I’m going to live, and if I have to, that means you’re going to, too.”

They walked the halls slowly, because Tony was still healing, had passed the two day observation period. But Bruce… he only had two more days left here at the hospital, and then he’d be moved. To the institution. Because his DID was too severe, he had to be monitored, because of the other guy.

But what Tony said about talking to him… Maybe Bruce could convince him that violence was bad, that they didn’t need protection, that not everyone was out to get them. But he’d need help, and Tony said he’d be there, no matter what.

“You’d really visit me, in a psych ward?” Bruce asked again, because he wanted to make sure he’d heard him right.

Tony shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to go to one before, see if the movies really do the places justice.” He paused, his tone less chipper. “Plus, you’ll be there.”

“So, we’re really doing this,” Bruce said slowly, stopping their walk, which happened to be at the door to the stairs.

Tony glanced down at his feet. “Doing what?”

“This,” Bruce told him, glancing between the two of them. “Us.”

Tony nodded, stepping forward into Bruce’s personal space. “I will be next to you every step of the way,” Tony said, his eyes trailing up Bruce’s body. “Like I said: no matter what.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” Tony asked, with a raise of an eyebrow.

“You’ll listen to Pepper, keep going to AA?”

He glanced away, and Bruce grabbed his shirt to bring his attention back. He wasn’t going to let Tony avoid this. “If I’m going to get better, so are you.”

Tony nodded, but Bruce waited for him to make eye contact, and then he rose his own eyebrow.

Tony nodded again. “Alright, I’ll go. But I do better with support…”

Bruce released the man. “I’d do better with you, too, but under these circumstances…”

Tony leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against Bruce’s. “We’ll work it out.”

Bruce nodded in return, because he hoped it was true.

They still had two days, and Bruce wanted to make the best of it, keep the mood light. They’d deal with everything else. Right then, it was just him and Tony.

He grinned, catching Tony’s eye. “Ever had sex on the roof before?”

Tony grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye as he pressed Bruce into the stairwell.

It wasn’t an elevator, but it would do.

**Author's Note:**

> Ohmygee, so I hope it was alright, I know the breaks could be seen as “chapters.” I tried not to make it too long, but this happened, it was fast paced, sorry. The woman who drew the picture is Kayla Hudson, my twin’s OC. Her story is called Blame it on Norway, and Kayla is an addition to the Avengers. It’s actually really good, in my opinion, and normally I don’t like rewrites of the movie, but BioN is great. She’s so adorable, and I couldn’t say no to putting her in. She was meeting up with Clint, ‘cause BioN is Clint/OC, Clayla, Clint/Kayla, Hawkshard, Shardeye, whatever floats your boat. We have a lot of fun going over Kayla! :D Oh, and don’t ask me why Billy and Clint were in the hospital. Billy could need some major surgery that takes a few procedures, and Clint… a CAT scan or something? 
> 
> Annnnnnd, I seem to want to write a sequel to this, a one shot of Bruce in the institute. That may or may not be up soon, and I plan to update the Trope Bingo in another month or so. Hope you enjoyed!


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